Of Fathers and Sons
by Amaya Ramiel
Summary: A short, hopefully sweet snapshot of Holmes visiting the Watson household after the birth of their son. Holmes gets to contemplate the notion of Watson as a father. Pure fluff.


Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and all associated characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and his estate, and I clearly (and very sadly) don't own any of it, but that doesn't mean I can't fiddle once in a while.

A/N: So, it's been ages since I published anything as I've been terribly busy researching and teaching. But, I was going through my files looking at the tiny, unpublished fics I'd written just for fun, and I thought 'what the heck'. It's not the best and it's quite short, but I think it's cute. Do let me know what you think ^_^.

* * *

**Of Fathers and Sons **by AR**  
**

Holmes rapped his knuckles on the door and was swiftly received not by Watson, as he'd expected, but by Mrs. Mary Watson. The detective had not seen her for little over a month, when she had been massively pregnant. Now, while she hadn't returned to her previous weight, she no longer looked like she was carrying another human being inside her. As he tried to come up with the correct greeting, Holmes detected the tired lines that had appeared on her face, as well as the underlying sense of satisfaction reflected in her eyes. If he has been prone to sentimentality, he might have thought she seemed to radiate happiness.

"Mr. Holmes, what a lovely surprise." – said Mary, her eyes full of surprise at her unexpected visitor.

"Ah, Mrs. Watson, you look much recovered from your… ordeal." Holmes wanted to kick himself for his lack of articulation.

"Ordeal is a peculiar way of referring to giving birth. Although I find I cannot entirely disagree with your choice of words." She replied, a smile dancing upon her lips.

"I believe congratulations are in order."

"Thank you, Sherlock. Oh, do come in, please." she said, stepping to the side to allow the detective to come into the hallway. "If I may inquire, is that what you came for? To congratulate us? We did receive your wonderful letter."

"In part, yes. But the truth is that I was wondering whether I might speak with Watson, and whether I might perhaps draw him away this evening, with your permission, of course." No one could accuse Sherlock Holmes of not knowing how to charm a person when he wanted.

Mary, however, chuckled at his words, well acquainted as she was with his methods.

"You know perfectly well how much John loves to accompany you on cases. The only reason he hasn't been able to visit lately is because we've been so busy."

Indeed, the detective could see she was telling the truth because of those small details his observant eyes caught such as her tired posture, the bags under her eyes that she tried to hide with makeup, and the slight untidiness of her dress.

"You'll have to wait a while, though, to speak with John; I'm afraid he's succumbed to sleep this afternoon and I haven't the heart to wake him, and I will ask that you don't either. We haven't been… well, let's just say the baby keeps very irregular sleeping hours."

Mary conducted the detective to the parlor where a most tender scene was displayed. The Watsons' newest piece of furniture, a large and sturdy rocking chair, was currently occupied by a certain doctor fast asleep. Watson's sock-clad feet were propped up on the couch so that the rocking chair was tilted slightly backwards. His head rested against the back of the chair and a light snore escaped his parted lips. But the most endearing factor was that in his arms he held his infant son, also fast sleep. The babe was laid upon Watson's broad chest, his head resting just over the doctor's heart, while Watson's hands supported him loosely but safely.

Holmes was struck by a sudden feeling of tenderness upon realizing that his Watson was truly a father. It seemed that until that moment he had not fully internalized this concept, but now, looking at father and son resting peacefully together, he could not escape its reality. His friend, confidant and biographer had a son whom he loved, and the thought made Sherlock feel both proud and lonely.

"Well, well," Holmes whispered, "we certainly must not disturb them," agreeing with Mary's earlier words.

Mary looked again to the sleeping pair, her heart full of love, and smiled. Turning back to the detective she said:

"Might I tempt you with some tea, and you can tell me all about your plans for tonight? A preview of the latest Holmes/Watson adventure before John writes it down." She smiled her small knowing smile again, and despite Holmes' regards for the fairer sex, he could almost see what made the doctor fall for her.

"Tea would be most welcome. Tonight's activities should not pose too much of a threat; I've been on the trail of a most illusive but hardly cunning villain who despite his inferior mental abilities has nonetheless managed to successfully elude Scotland Yard's best. He confounded me for a short time, but as of yesterday I discovered that he had actually…

The sounds of Holmes' voice and Mary's occasional questions drifted softly from the kitchen, passing inoffensively over the sleeping father and son, and merging with the occasional faint noises from a lazy summer afternoon in London.

The End


End file.
